


Run For It

by Mur



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Angst, Future Trunks timeline, Gen, References to Character Death, Time Travel, Twoshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-20
Updated: 2014-05-29
Packaged: 2018-01-25 20:08:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1660895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mur/pseuds/Mur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After his daily training sessions with Gohan, Trunks goes running.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Run

_Run for It_

  
Summary - After his daily training with Gohan, Trunks goes running.

  
~*~

 

_Run._

 

And so he ran, sneakers pounding across pavement, through gravel, and into the grass. The only sound to be heard was the sound of his feet, and his own rhythmic breathing. The sun beat down against his back as it drooped towards the horizon, painting everything orange as it sank.

 

 

_Run to be stronger._

 

He ran, his fists clenched and hair bobbing with every step. He liked to believe he was strong. He knew he was stronger than any ordinary human, but he was helpless to help Gohan if he ever needed backup. If he wanted to stand a chance, he had to become much, much stronger. He needed to be able to protect his mother, protect what little was left of the city. If he could run faster, he could find food faster, bring supplies to the refugees faster, salvage scraps from further away, and still manage to not be seen. The dry grass crunched beneath the weight of his feet, and he put on a short burst of speed. It was better to run, better to push his body this way--flying wasted precious energy and made his power level detectable to the androids.

 

 

_Run for Gohan._

 

His mentor and friend was the only person he could relate to, for the most part. Gohan was also half-saiyan, and grew up with his human mother. However, that was about where their similarities stopped. Gohan had grown up with friends, with his family, trained under Piccolo, and fought alongside his father. Gohan had travelled to another planet, he was even a super saiyan. Trunks admired him, and felt that everything Gohan was, was everything he wanted to be.

On the other hand, Gohan had endured more pain and loss than anyone else.

Everyone that he had fought alongside was now dead, and their duty of protecting the city was thrust upon him. His father had never seen his ascent, and his mother was gone. He had taken all of the responsibilities of his father, who had been legendary, upon himself, and Trunks could see that it was simultaneously invigorating him, and causing him to deteriorate. How much longer could he fight like this? There was no life anymore, only preparing himself for the next battle.

 

 

_Run to be a Super Saiyan._

 

Gohan had once told him that one becomes a super saiyan because they need to, not because they want to. Sometimes his faith wavered. Could he ever do it? He already believed with all of his heart that he needed to become a super saiyan. One had to push themselves beyod their limits, push themselves until they were so exhausted that they think they might die, and then push themselves some more.

  
He remembered being told that the pure-blooded saiyans naturally had typically lived eerily long lives. Their lifespans were long so that they could live to fight more battles, and grow stronger after recovering from each near-death experience. That idea, while he tried to embrace it, terrified him on some deep level. Every near-death experience that he and Gohan had faced, left them fleeing from their attackers, barely grasping onto their lives. Every time they fought could be their last; they were merely a distraction for the androids, stalling for time, stalling to borrow more time for the remainder of the human race.

 

 

_Run to stop the androids._

 

Sometimes he wondered what life would have been like had they never came. The thing about Androids 17 and 18 was that they weren't even evil. Or maybe, they were too evil. He didn't even know anymore. They just didn't seem to care about anything. When he was younger, he had envisioned evil to be some maniacal madman hellbent on destroying the world, and he cared a hell a lot of a lot about it. That was the type of person he had imagined Doctor Gero to be, but his creations hadn't listened to him, had they? They wandered off to do their own thing, blissfully uncaring about everything from traffic laws to buildings as barriers to human life. They destroyed everything in their path not because they had some goal in mind, but just because they could. They didn't care about anything, or about anyone. They never tired, and fighting was a game to them. If they killed someone, they had just won another round of their malevolent game; death was just another form of entertainment.

  
Not only did they never tire, they learned. They knew all of his techniques, his tricks, and his abilities. They had probably catalogued his power level and his arc of improvement, only bothering to exert just enough energy to stomp him into the ground, nothing more, nothing less. He couldn't even hold them off, let alone save anyone.

His breathing was labored, his hands balled into fists as his feet pounded along the ground. He was making his way back around and into the city now, as the hills eased into the paved roads, and the gravel scraped and crackled beneath the weight of his feet.

 

 

_Run for your mother._

 

If there was anyone in the universe that he would give everything to protect, it was his mother. His mother had taken her father's burnt-out compound and transformed the basement into what was all but a fortress of solitude. She abandoned the upper levels of the building, instead expanding the basement to connect to the remains of the now-broken subway system so her son and Gohan could run along the abandoned tunnels across the city without being seen. She was the bravest, most intelligent person that he knew, and he believed this to be in spite of his own bias towards her as his mother. She had lost everyone else she knew, her friends and family, and she spoke of them to her son often. She would tell him stories of their run-ins with the Red Ribbon Army, of Goku and Krillin's adventures and misadventures collecting the dragon balls, and of his father's appearance on earth. She told him of her journey to Namek, where she faced wild fauna and Frieza's henchmen alike to gather dragon balls and face the overlord that had wiped out his father's entire race. Sometimes Gohan would chime in excitedly when she got caught up telling these stories, and Trunks would always listen, enraptured by it all, and punctuate the endings by telling his mother how amazing he thought her to be.

  
She would always chuckle and say how she didn't do much, except be "pretty and smart," but her son thought the world of her.

  
He could feel the wind against his face doing little other than drying the sweat in place, his side cramping up in protest. His heart was pounding in his chest, and he could hear it rushing in his ears. No, he could still stand. He could still walk. He could keep running.

 

 

_Run for your father's pride._

 

What little he knew of his father was just what his mother had told him. His father was strong, determined, and prideful to a fault. She had said his pride lead him to a stubbornness that exceeded the mountains themselves, weathering the elements and abuse of civilization. Yeah, something like that.  
Sometimes he tried to imagine what he would have been like. He knew he was strong, maybe he was eloquent? Wasn't he a prince? A warrior prince? Independent, commanding, and stern. His mother had never described him as kind, in fact, he never even told her he loved her. But, somehow, he liked to believe that his father did, in fact, love her. He fought for her. He died protecting her, fighting the androids. Had he not protected her, she would have--

  
He willed himself not to picture it, but he did. His home in shambles, his mother laying lifeless, her computers smashed and blueprints scattered across the floor, blood trickling down her face, the life gone from her eyes.

 

 

_There!_

 

 

A flash of gold. Sweat was dripping down his face, and into his eyes. He reached for it, pushing against the wind. He didn't recall powering up, but he felt it, felt something on the edge of his consciousness, just out of his reach. He tried to grasp it, putting on another burst of speed, but it was gone as soon as it game, and he stumbled, lost his footing, and rolled helplessly into the grass. He lay there for a few moments, his body a sea of heat and ache, staring at the darkening sky as he panted, despairing that the power he had almost attained was once more out of his grasp.

  
He stumbled back to his feet, pushing himself back up with his hands and his sheer force of will. His body was screaming at him to give up, his legs protesting every subsequent step. No, he was less than halfway done today. 

  
Now, more than ever, he had to run.

 

 

_Run, so you can fly._


	2. Fly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He had reasons to run, but he had to find his reasons to fly.

_Fly._

And so he flew, all tears and anger, despair, frustration,emptiness, hopelessness, rage, helplessness, and loss, all piling together inside of him, mixing into a deathly weight that pulled his heart down into his stomach and onto the ground. He cried and screamed, not quite sure where to go, what to do, other than try to get revenge. 

His tears were hot on his face, but the rain was cold, making him shiver against the wind, as it buffeted his legs and back. They mixed with the wet streams already dripping from his hair and fell to the ground, even as he tried (and failed) to hold them back. Why bother anymore? Was it worth it? Who was watching? No one. He could let it out, he didn't have to hide his despair or anger any longer.

  
_Fly because you're stronger._

He pushed himself harder, not even sure where he was going. He was just following the path of destruction that the androids had left behind. They had left Gohan in their wake, a testament to the fact that they simply could not be stopped. Unless. Unless someone stronger appeared. 

He never believed himself to be stronger than Gohan; Gohan had been a last ray of hope for humanity without even knowing it, but now, now he could feel the power coursing through him. It was dumb, it was rash, but he had to go face them now. He had to make them suffer! Even if they couldn't feel pain, he'd find a way. He'd do something. Anything! He had to stop them! Without Gohan, there was no one left. No one else would defend humanity else, no one else would stand up to them. If he wasn't doing anything, he would be giving up. Giving up and letting them have free reign over the surrounding cities--no, the world! Everyone would live in fear, and soon enough there would be nothing left! He had the power, he could face them, even if it was the last thing his mother wanted, even if it was what Gohan had tried to stop him from doing.

 

_Fly for Gohan._

Gohan had been his mentor and his friend, and yet he had stopped him from going to fight with him. Would he have just gotten in the way? No! He could have helped him this time! He could have done something! Even if they were just as outmatched as they had been the previous time, maybe Gohan would have survived!

  
No, maybe not. He was still too weak. He had been too weak all along. His own weakness had been an obstacle for Gohan. He had been foolish, and Gohan had to pick up the slack for him. Perhaps it was his overenthusiasm, or his own overconfidence. He had been so certain that if he was strong enough, if he trained long enough, if he focused hard enough, he could grow beyond the capabilities of the androids, but he had been sorely mistaken. That was why Gohan hadn't let him go. He had stopped him, and gone off to fight the androids alone-- not because of his pride, but to protect him. 

In the end, he had died so that Trunks could live. 

If Gohan fell, he would have to take his place. Without him, there was no one else. Who else would stop them? Anyone else with the power to stand up to them had already fallen. He /needed/ him! He couldn't do this alone! The awful, crushing realization of this hit Trunks like a pile of stones, dropping from his throat and into his stomach. Gohan had been more than a friend, more than a mentor. He had been a shining ray of hope for Trunks, and for humanity. He had been courageous, smart, determined, and optimistic. And yet, that hope and optimism was no more. He was gone, and so was any hope that Trunks had. The excitement he had built up earlier at the prospect of facing the androids at Gohan's side (a selfish excitement--he scolded himself inwardly for it thereafter), had turned to a gut-wrenching agony of despair and cold rage. 

It welled up within him, and he felt like there was nowhere for it to go. Through tears and rain he could hear himself screaming, but his own voice did so little. He didn't even notice that he had been clenching his fists so hard that they bled, nor did he realize the ground practically crumbling beneath the onslaught of his energy. Even if he screamed louder or cried harder, it didn't matter in the slightest. The rage had consumed him, battering against his psyche in waves, as though no amount of venting could quell it. 

The gold flashes had returned, this time crackling across his body in waves. It was here to embrace his anger, to be the funnel through which he channeled his seemingly endless rage. They were here to consume him, take him, and let him become a single being with his emotion and raw power.

 

_Fly because you're a super saiyan._

Something inside of Trunks had broken. Perhaps on a subconscious or logical level, he was perfectly aware that the androids had him completely outmatched, but somewhere in all of this, his mind had shut down completely (perhaps from the trauma, though looking back on it, he also could attribute it to his own pride). He was a being of pure despair and anger, an entity of heated force. He would avenge Gohan! He would avenge the children, the innocents, everyone who the androids had taken their sick mechanical pleasure in destroying! He decided, then and there, that he would be the tool of their demise. He would end them; end their nonchalant tyrrany and propensity for destruction. He had power, and he was fully aware that he was the last one alive with any. He had risen from the ashes of his family and friends like a phoenix--a golden omen of a new day, a dawn of a time where no one had to live in fear, cowering in bunkers beneath cities, or scattering, like tiny mice when caught unawares by a cat. 

He flew in spite of the rain beating down on his face and back, buffeting his skin like tiny bullets, weighing down his hair and clothes as if begging him to stop, stop and go home to your mother, stop and dry yourself off, warm yourself at home, and come up with a plan of attack. Stop because you can't win, because this very storm was the setting of one super saiyan's downfall, it did not need to be that of a second. 

No, if his mother found out that Gohan was dead, she would never let him outside again. Besides, he probably didn't have the heart to tell her that now the two of them were all alone in the world. It had been crushing enough to be so badly injured last time he had brought Gohan back. This time he would be carrying his corpse. It was now or never. He knew he had one opportunity. One shot for revenge, one moment that he could grasp and use to his advantage, take on the androids when they were probably already tired (did they even tire? Of course they didn't sweat or breathe, so he really had no way of knowing) or damaged, before they could recover or escape.

 

_Fly to stop the androids._

He should have known that both 17 and 18 had fought super saiyans before. He should have realized that they knew and catalogued every skill and trick that anyone before him had employed, including his more powerful father and his mentor. He was completely outmatched in wit, skill, and stamina, and even further outmatched in terms of brute strength. He flew after them, faster than he ever had in his life. It was easy enough to follow the trail of wrecked cars, burned-out buildings, and destroyed fauna that they had left in their wake. 

The fight was over faster than it had began. He thought he had wiped them out with a barrage of blasts, but everything he did, they brushed off as though it was nothing. He may as well have been throwing confetti at them. They mocked him, even toyed with him. It was only now that it truly had dawned on him what he was really up against. These two had been the instruments of his father's death. Of Piccolo, and Krillin, Yamcha and Tien. Any and all others who faced them, probably simply trying to defend innocent people, the androids had taken their fighting as a challenge, a game that they could manipulate for their own amusement. 

He hit the pavement, hard, and felt the metallic taste of his own blood in his mouth. He had tried to crawl away, but his body had all but given up on him. Even what he had thought was the unending power of a super saiyan was child's play. If he didn't stop them now, would anyone? Would they continue on like this, for years and years, maybe even forever? Would they ever rust or cease to function? Their power supply seemed to be endless. 

His world faded to black, and he briefly wondered if he was dying.

 

_Fly for your mother._

It was after his miserable failure facing androids 17 and 18 for the second time that he agreed to follow through with his mother's seemingly-insane plan. He had told her that it was ridiculous, time and time again, but she simply laughed to herself and shook her head at him.

"Now, now, Trunks. The definition of insanity is doing the same motions repeatedly and expecting different results. How is this insane if nobody has ever tried it before? There's a first time for everything, after all!" She had chirped. 

And he had to admit that she was right. His mother always did seem to understand these things, and somehow she was confident that she could build a time machine. If he could deliver the antidote to Goku, Goku would live to face the androids, and as she predicted, win. (Or, at the least, "give them a run for their stupid microchipped money," she had once said. Whatever that meant.) 

She had been delighted when he agreed to help her with her plan, but at the same time, he knew that she must have realized the danger of it. If he altered the timeline too far, he would be trapped in the past, unable to reach the future (or rather, his own present), because it would create an offshoot timeline where everything would go differently. He tried not to dwell on it, because his mother didn't seem too worried about it, but at the same time, he was afraid.

Sure, she had warned him to speak to as few people as possible, not to give away who he was, and not to do anything that would create a paradox, but the thought of her having to spend the rest of her days here, isolated and alone, was what disturbed him on a far deeper level than the fear of any paradoxes.   
Seeing his mother in the past was also strange enough, He hadn't expected to meet her, and she was--well, almost exactly how he knew her to be. Intelligent and cunning, sure, but with a far more outrageous and, well, flirtatious attitude (and hairstyle! Whoa, how did she even get it to stay like that?). Then again, she must have worked pretty hard to land his father, if he truly was as stubborn as everyone said. He just hadn't expected her to be so forward about it. 

Here, in this time, he was flying once more, to protect not only his mother, but his mother's world. Everyone she knew and loved, everything she held dear. This was the world she had grown up in, the world she had known. This was what he had to protect.

 

_Fly for your father's pride._

Defeating Freiza had been the easy part. It was all just timing, really. Goku hadn't shown up yet, and he'd be, well, literally killing two birds with one stone by stopping him. He hadn't planned for it, but, even if there were time-centric reapercussions, he could only imagine it being a good thing. Freiza's power had been nothing to him in comparison to what 17 and 18 had put him through, and the strange alien overlord clearly wasn't even in his right mind. He had been so hellbent on getting revenge on Goku. Perhaps Goku really could make a difference, but Goku wasn't even the one he really wanted to see.  
They had all gathered to await Goku's return, and he to meet him for the first time, but Trunks kept trying to sneak glances across at the one everyone had referred to as Vegeta. It had to be his father. There was no doubt about it. He was everything his mother and Gohan had described, and so much more.

He wasn't entirely sure what he had been expecting.

In his mind, he had decided time and time again what his father had looked like, talked like, and acted like, despite knowing next to nothing about him. Everything he had imagined had somehow been completely wrong. He was harsh, short of words, rude, and always arrogant. He hadn't expected him to instantly love him or welcome him with open arms, but maybe he expected something, even if he wasn't quite certain what. No, whatever respect he would recieve from Vegeta had to be won. It was purportedly the only way the saiyan's pride would allow him to accept anyone into his life. At least, that was what he assumed. (Though he couldn't help but find himself bemused by the idea that his mother had probably won him over just because she refused to be stepped on by anyone and was in control of any situation, whether anyone else liked it or not.) Perhaps it was his pride that made him so arrogant and rude, but at the same time, it was what drove him.

Entering the time chamber with Vegeta, he thought he might die. Their first time training, he had wondered why everything seemed so different from how Goku had described it. It wasn't just eerie. The air was dense, and it was hot. Terribly hot. His feet felt so heavy that he could barely lift them off of the ground, and he felt as though his lungs were going to collapse. Every breath he took was like breathing in hot smoke, and the wind pushed him back. With every step he fought to take, he tried to push through the raw energy that held him down. 

At the center of this swirling storm of energy, stood his father.

It was then that he realized that in spite of everything he had endured, his own rage and determination were nothing. His father gave everything his all, and accepted no aid from others. It wasn't his power that amazed Trunks, but his entire being.

This was what he had to ascend to.

This was square one.

 

  
_Fly, so your life can begin._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for reading my first fic in years!


End file.
